


Superheroes

by enigma731



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amusement Parks, Avengers Family, Avengers Merchandise, Clint Barton-centric, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Mission Fic, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has more than a few concerns about Tony's new Avengers themepark. Trouble is, no one wants to hear them from the focus group's "least marketable Avenger." Looks like he'll just have to investigate for himself. As usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thanks to [queenofthepuddingbrains](http://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthepuddingbrains/works) and [blizzardphoenix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blizzardphoenix/works) without whom this fic would not exist! 
> 
> This fic is already written entirely and will be updated weekly on Wednesdays. I hope you all enjoy the crackiest concept I've ever written. ;)

_When you've been fighting for it all your life_  
_You've been struggling to make things right_  
_That's how a superhero learns to fly_

_([X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0y7ygEDRpSo))_

 

In the beginning, the idea is Tony’s. And of course it is -- Nobody else would be capable of coming up with such a spectacularly crazy and yet also somehow ingenious endeavor.

Well, back up. That isn’t exactly right. _Really_ the idea begins with Steve, on the day he comes in to his own weekly briefing meeting looking uncharacteristically forlorn. Clint notices--was aware even before Steve’s entrance that something is off because today Steve is late, and that never happens short of an actual global catastrophe. He doesn’t say anything, though, because it doesn’t seem like any of his business.

“What’s wrong, Stars-and-Stripes?” asks Tony, who apparently does not have any of the same reservations. He leans back in his chair and props his feet on the edge of the table, which earns a look of mild disgust from Natasha. “Shield get a scratch?”

“This,” says Steve, ignoring the barb as he slides the Starkpad he’s carrying across the table before sitting down himself. “Looks like Coney Island’s headed for bankruptcy. Might even be shutting down, or at least scaling back. Apparently ‘home of the world’s first large-scale alien invasion’ isn’t a claim to fame that’s helped New York’s tourism industry. Or at least not the Coney Island demographic.”

Tony frowns, scrolling through the article without ever actually looking directly at the screen. “I don’t get it. I mean, I know you’re into the whole adrenaline rush, plunging to your death aesthetic, but since when do you need a rollercoaster--and an outdated one at that--to do it?”

Steve shakes his head, snatching the tablet back as if Tony’s somehow violated it. “Not the point.”

“Then what _is_ the point?” asks Natasha, evidently interested enough to break her silence and wade into this conversation.

Steve sighs heavily, looking like he regrets ever opening his mouth. “Just--made some memories there. Good ones. Shame for it to be torn down.”

Tony stays silent for another few moments, and Clint can practically see the gears turning inside his head, that glazed-eyed look he gets when he’s having a particularly big idea. Steve just waits, having evidently learned that talking during this process will get him exactly nowhere.

“What if I suggested that you make some new ones?” Tony asks finally.

Steve does something dangerously close to rolling his eyes at that. “I’d say that’s a pretty bad cliché, even for you.”

Clint half expects Tony’s proposition to end in a forced group field trip to the ailing park, because that’s what any reasonable man would mean. But this is Tony Stark, of course, so _reasonable_ isn’t exactly in his repertoire.

And that’s how Clint ends up here, at what once was the front gate to Coney Island, preparing to be in a parade for the first time since his days in the circus. He’s surrounded by his teammates, and there probably won’t be an alien invasion today, so at least that’s something. Thor looks as though he might be preparing for a very important ceremonial march, dressed in full armor. Steve looks regal in his uniform, if a little sad around the eyes. Tony is like a kid on a sugar high, already dressed in a bright new Iron Man suit, trying to convince a reluctant Bruce to bring The Other Guy to this party. Natasha is all but invisible, like a shadow by Clint’s side, simply taking it all in.

 _Stark Industries Presents Avengers Adventureland_ reads the new sign at the park’s entrance, in shiny gold letters that are at least five feet tall. The thing is embellished with an absurd number of lights, and comes complete with a small animatronic Iron Man that flies around the outside, shooting sparks at a moving Captain America shield and Hulk fist. At the opposite end, a miniature Thor strikes his hammer against the wording, which makes the whole display shake periodically.

It takes Clint a minute to pick his jaw up off the ground. “Wow,” he breathes to Natasha, who looks about as thrilled as he would expect by the whole spectacle. “Could Stark be a little more obnoxious?”

She snorts a laugh. “Yes. He wanted to call it Stark Land. Pepper managed to talk him down from that one, but you know he had to get to get his name in the title somehow.”

Clint shakes his head. “And how is this supposed to be better?”

Natasha shrugs. “Hey, at least you’re not in sequined spandex this time.”

“No,” he agrees, irritation growing as he looks closer at the decorations adorning the entryway. “I’m not there at all. And neither are you, so I don’t know why you’re so smug.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You do know we work in covert ops, Clint? Emphasis on _covert_? Having my face plastered all over merchandizing isn’t exactly a life goal.”

“Time to go, kids!” Tony announces then, motioning to the line of floats that have appeared behind their small crowd, waiting for their star performers.

He motions Steve onto the first, which is predictably decked out in stars and stripes, complete with a few actresses dressed as vintage USO girls. Steve winces at that, but he plays his role admirably, climbing up onto the thing and striking a pose with his shield as the float starts to roll slowly forward. Thor gets the next one, a red-and-gold monstrosity adorned with a jewel-crusted hammer that’s taller than he is, with artificial lightning bolts that race along the undercarriage when the wheels turn. Bruce’s float is green, of course, and features a giant Hulk head, because it seems Tony’s anticipated his friend’s reluctance at bringing the real thing. Bruce looks chagrined as he climbs on, but he seems to know better than to protest out loud, at least.

“You’re next,” Tony says to Natasha, and Clint is a little relieved to see that she will get her own presence here, on a float that’s built to look like a sleek black quinjet.

She shakes her head, though, balking at climbing on. “This isn’t a good idea, Stark.”

“Sure it is,” Tony insists. “It’s a great idea. Come on, people want to see you. I can’t send this thing out there empty, and I’m not letting you pose as my secretary here.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “If I get murdered by an angry mob of guests, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.” She steps onboard after that, though, arranging her face into a facade that’s equal parts charisma and threat.

“Last but not least,” Tony says to Clint, pointing at the purple monstrosity that’s rolling up, emblazoned with bulls-eyes of varying sizes. Spandex would go perfectly with this, Clint thinks, but he isn’t about to risk saying that out loud--Next thing he knows, Stark will be pulling out a leotard for him.

Clint scowls. “Why last? Where’s your float?”

“Don’t need one,” says Tony, gesturing to his armor.

“And if I don’t need one either?” asks Clint, though he’s perfectly aware of how nonsensical that sounds.

Tony just gives him a long-suffering sigh. “Come on. You get to shoot while you ride!”

Only then does Clint catch sight of the robot on the float, a pair of arms that holds up different targets for him to aim at.

Giving in to curiosity, he climbs up the steps, watching Tony take off to fly over the processional as it enters the park and the crowds of guests begin to roar.

* * *

Okay, so if Clint is being honest, he hasn’t actually _read_ the phone-book-sized packet of agreements and releases he’s signed related to having his image and branding used in Tony’s latest venture. _Skimmed_ is more like it, because they’re all in this together, he figures, and who has time to sort through all the details anyway?

Thankfully Tony puts together a short-list of information for everyone, the need-to-know briefing on Adventureland. They’re all expected to make appearances on rotating Saturday afternoons--barring extraterrestrial attack or other global catastrophe, of course--and Stark Industries gets blanket permission on merchandizing, which irritates Natasha, but suits Clint just fine. He even enjoys the pile of new items that shows up every couple of weeks for him to sign so that they can be sold at marked-up autograph prices.

The nicest part of the deal, Clint decides, is that he gets unlimited access to the park, free of charge, anytime he wants. He doesn’t get the chance immediately after the grand opening, thanks to a certain incident with reanimated corpses in Florida requiring the Avengers’ attention for a few days. But the park’s still plenty crowded by the time he finds a day off to make the trip. He leaves his bow at home this time, opting for sunglasses and a baseball cap with his civvies, since he isn’t here on official business and wants to explore without drawing too much attention. (Although he wouldn’t be too upset over an impromptu autograph session, if he’s being honest with himself.)

He ignores the annoyance rising in his chest as he confronts the billboard again and is reminded that he and Natasha are still not on it. So much for a team venture.

 _Marketing_ , Tony would say, followed up with some nonsense about demand characteristics and interest polls. It’s the first time Clint’s really had a chance to take in the park for what it is, though, having been too distracted by performing his trick shots during the opening parade, so he continues eagerly.

Inside the entry gates is a series of statues, depicting Tony, Thor, Steve, and the Hulk fighting Chitauri drone soldiers. Clint pauses for a moment, looking around, disappointed to see that once again, they’re the only ones with a presence here. One of the Chitauri statues has an arrow through its neck, he notices, but not one damn piece of evidence explaining how it got there.

“Sure,” Clint mutters to himself, squelching the urge to walk up and break that part off the statue--It wouldn’t be fitting to get himself kicked out of the park on his first visit, although at least that might get someone to notice he exists. “It just appeared out of thin air. Of course. Arrows by spontaneous generation.”

A harried-looking mother gives him an uneasy look at that, herding her two boys away from the crazy man talking to himself. Clint sighs.

The center point of the park’s entrance is a model of the Tower, downsized so that it fits within the courtyard space. Clint makes his way over to it, momentarily watching a small group of children staring up at the structure in awe. It pales in comparison to the real thing, he thinks, but it’s not like the kids are really concerned with that.

Past the Tower is the first gift shop, which he walks through quickly, doing a mental tally. Roughly four pieces of Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, and Hulk merchandise to each one of his, and Natasha’s items are even fewer. Shaking his head, Clint ducks back out into the sunshine, the summer just beginning to give way to crisper autumn air.

The first of the rides stretch out to the right and left of the walkway here, the closest of which features a shield roughly ten times the size of Steve’s, and has an animatronic Red Skull in the waiting area. Clint isn’t quite sure how he feels about that--there’s something off-putting about creating even clearly fake baddies, he thinks, an element of truth that maybe ought to inspire more respect. He can see a glimpse of the cars at the ride’s beginning, fashioned after the historic jet he remembers seeing in every book and article about Captain America he’d searched for as a child. This one must be Steve’s history, then, thinks Clint, wondering how the man himself must feel about that decision.

On Clint’s other side is a sleek-looking roller-coaster with a sign proclaiming _The Widow’s Web._ The coaster and track are black and red, of course, and they throw off showers of white-blue sparks as the cars shoot out onto the first drop. Clint grins to himself at that, because of course Natasha would love something simple and dangerous like this, wouldn’t have given permission for anything real about her to be incorporated here.

Moving on, he finds Thor’s ride, which is a simulator boasting a tour of the Nine Realms, and another one which is a mock-up of Tony’s and Bruce’s lab back at home. That’s a recipe for gimmicky scripted disaster, but it’s not what Clint is looking for right now. Maybe next time, he thinks.

 _Iron Man’s Hall of Marvels_ reads the next sign, and this one appears to be an exhibit rather than a ride. Clint ducks inside, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the dim artificial lights. This place is a massive chasm of a hall, lined with glass cases which house replicas of all fifty of Tony’s suit designs. Clint lets out a low whistle, imagining the budget this thing must have required to construct. There are also working likenesses of his robots, decidedly not as smart as the real things.

At the far end of the building, a walkway connects the Hall to an indoor arcade area. There’s a game in the fashion of Whack-a-Mole, but with Hulk fist mitts and continuously emerging Chitauri heads. Beside that is a strong-man game with a likeness of Mjolnir, apparently deeming any child worthy of picking it up. There’s also an area for laser tag, played in fake Iron Man suits, complete with beams that fire from the palms. But Clint’s eye is immediately drawn to the archery area in the back corner, unmistakably styled in purple.

“Finally,” mutters Clint, making his way over to it. There isn’t a crowd at this game, he notices, just one girl holding the provided bow. He gives her a distracted glance as he walks by to retrieve his own weapon from the attendant manning this station, thinking she looks a bit old to be so deep in concentration here. Then again, he’s thirty-six and about to play his own carnival game.

Clint examines the bow for a moment, looking at how it works. The draw weight is ridiculously light, but then that makes sense if this thing is supposed to be accessible to children. There won’t be any long-range firing in this space anyway, at least not if Tony and his staff have anything to say about it. The accompanying arrows have blunt tips with some sort of tech embedded in them.

Sensors, Clint realizes, when he turns to look at the target. It’s projected onto a digital array a few yards in front of him, and has different modes of difficulty. He selects the highest, then takes a moment to aim before firing off an experimental shot. He isn’t quite sure how it happens, but the arrow deviates a few millimeters to the left, just missing the outer edge of the bulls-eye.

“Wind resistance encountered,” says an automated voice, apparently intended to give feedback to players.

“No,” Clint grumbles. “We’re indoors. The air conditioning isn’t that strong.”

“Communication error,” the game responds cheerfully.

Shaking his head, Clint hits the button to play again. This time he accounts for the game’s imaginary wind, aiming a little differently to correct. His second arrow falls comically short, though, as if the thing suddenly develops a lead weight halfway through its trajectory and drops out of the air.

“Inadequate force,” says his digital teacher. “Focus on supporting the shot from the biceps.”

“If I use any more force, this thing is going to come apart,” says Clint, shaking the flimsy bow at the game, as if it can see what he’s doing. Knowing Tony, it might actually have that capability.

“Communication error,” it chirps again.

“Fine!” Clint growls, nocking and drawing for the third time. He’s been fooled twice already, has had plenty of time to realize that this thing adds nonsensical obstacles to the game to foil the player in ways the real world never has. Now it’s a vendetta, though, and he’s determined to win.

He aligns his third shot carefully, stretches the bow backward until it groans in protest. He wants to believe the third time will be the charm when he releases the arrow, but he ends up only vaguely surprised when the thing bursts into flame halfway to the target, falling to the ground in a puff of green smoke.

“Faulty explosive arrow,” says the game, and Clint could swear he can detect an air of smugness.

“You’re a faulty explosive arrow,” he snaps at it, bringing his palm down to slap the display.

“Communication error!” it replies, unperturbed.

The security guard hasn’t missed that little display, though, and he makes a beeline over to Clint. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside and calm yourself down.”

Clint hesitates for a moment, considers playing the fame card, but then he realizes it would be more embarrassing to have this entire room full of kids know who he is, while he’s getting kicked out for yelling at a toy. He nods curtly and huffs off, pulling his phone out of his pocket and preparing to call Tony. This thing undoubtedly needs some adjustments.

His attention is diverted, though, drawn to the ride that’s outside of the gaming area, against the back fence of the park. _Avengers Academy_ , the sign reads, and then below that, _Become your very own superhero!!_

“That what you think happened to us?” Clint asks Tony’s number on the screen of his phone. He shoves the phone back into his pocket, though, curiosity getting the best of him. There aren’t any parts of this ride visible outside, and the line going inside is moving quickly, suggesting that this thing has a truly impressive capacity.

Clint jumps onto the end of the line, deciding to give the thing a go. He doesn’t get far, though, stopped by a security guard’s raised palm at the doorway.

“I’m sorry, sir, this one’s kids only. Gotta be under 48 inches to ride.” He motions to a replica of Dum-E next to the waiting area. _Must be shorter than this to ride!_ reads a sign hanging from its mechanical arm.

“Oh, come on!” Clint scowls. “Why?”

“Park policy,” says the guard, shrugging.

“That’s a dumb policy,” Clint grumbles, turning away. He could protest this one too, he realizes, but he doesn’t really want to, is rapidly losing interest in being here at all. That sentiment isn’t improved by a glance at the map on a sign nearby. There are more shops, an eatery area and a sophisticated-looking obstacle course, but absolutely nothing based solely on the Hawkeye brand, nothing named after him.

He starts to walk away, prepared to go straight to the front gate and back to the Tower to complain. He’s stopped again, though, nearly trips over a little boy who’s just come off the ride. The kid has a head full of shaggy blond hair, and appears to be having trouble walking in a straight line.

“Whoa,” says Clint, catching the kid by the shoulders, and guiding him toward what appears to be his father, standing a few feet away.

“Hey,” says the dad, bending down to catch the boy by the shoulders. He looks instantly concerned when his son doesn’t respond, and Clint has to fight his usual urge to avert his eyes from happy family moments, deciding he ought to be here if a crisis might be unfolding.

“How was it?” the dad tries again.

“Good,” the boy says finally, though there’s a decided lack of enthusiasm in his voice. He sounds almost mechanical, eerily similar to the voice of the archery game.

“Wanna tell me what it was about?” asks the dad, apparently oblivious to the fact that Clint is still hovering a few feet away, still listening in on this conversation.

“Don’t remember,” the kid mumbles, wiping at his eyes. “Can we go home?”

Mom swoops in, then, apparently back from the refreshments stand to save the day. “I told you he’s not ready to ride things alone,” she tells her husband disapprovingly, handing a cookie to the kid before picking him up. “Let’s go.”

Clint doesn’t follow them as they leave, but he can’t quite shake the uneasy feeling that’s left in the pit of his stomach, can’t stop thinking about how empty that child’s eyes looked, how he didn’t seem in control of his own body.


	2. Chapter 2

“There’s something wrong with Adventureland,” Clint tells Tony, two nights later. They’re standing in the communal kitchen, Clint piling cold cuts onto a bun, Tony unpacking the Chinese delivery everyone else has ordered.

“Oh?” asks Tony, not looking up from what he’s doing. His tone suggests that he isn’t surprised that he’s getting complaints, though as far as Clint knows, nobody else has spent much time at the park yet. Well, aside from Steve, who seems to have developed a penchant for showing up there on his days off, making surprise appearances for the kids.

“Well,” says Clint, finishing with the meat--turkey, ham, and salami--and grabbing all the cheese he can find to begin the next layers, “first of all, why don’t I get a ride?” 

Tony sighs, setting a carton of rice down and leaning back against the counter. “What would the angle be? You don’t have any powers. You don’t have a snappy backstory. Your arrows are cool, sure, but they’re much better for interactive games, not a ride.”

Clint balls his hand into a fist for a moment before realizing that he’s squeezing the mustard bottle within an inch of its life, making his sandwich much spicier than he’s intended. He forces himself to relax his fingers, setting the bottle down hard enough that mustard sprays from its tip, decorating the counter. “So make it an interactive ride. Alien invasion. Put the kids in the seats and give them something to shoot with as they ride.”

Tony shakes his head, looking as if he’s going to great lengths to show patience, as if Clint might be a little kid himself. “That’s just not an original concept. Besides, you’ve already got the archery game in the arcade.”

“Which is rigged!” says Clint, slamming the mayonnaise jar on the counter and creating another splash. 

“Not rigged,” Tony sighs. “Just--designed to give the player some exciting new challenges. It would be boring if all you ever did was shoot at a target. Come on, Hawkeye, I’m sorry to say it, but when you’ve got a lot of popular brands and limited space, they can’t all be equally represented. That’s why we did market research, and the long and short of it is, people are the least interested in you. I’m just trying to appeal to our target demographic here.”

“Your survey’s wrong,” Clint insists, though he can’t deny the way his chest seems to go cold and hollow at that, the way his thoughts start to wander away from righteous anger and toward the fact that his record’s on public display now, that anyone who cared enough to do a few internet searches could find a list of every bad thing he’s ever done. He turns away from Tony, grabbing the jar of pickles from the fridge and emptying the entire contents onto his sandwich.

“Not likely,” says Tony, seemingly oblivious to Clint’s sudden anxiety. He takes out a bottle of wine and neatly pops the cork. “But you said ‘first of all’ earlier. You have something else you wanted to tell me about?”

Clint hesitates, taking a knife from the drawer and looking at it in his hand for a moment before cutting his sandwich in half, a motion that requires most of his upper-body strength. He thinks about the kid outside the Academy ride, about the way he’d stumbled to his father, asked to go home. But he doesn’t have enough information, Clint decides, has no reason to think he’s seen anything other than a scared child, rattled by being away from his parents on a ride. 

He shakes his head at Tony, but decides he’ll go back, investigate further.

* * *

The next day, Clint arrives at Adventureland on a mission. This time he ignores the frustrations of the front gate, of the statues in the entryway, marches straight past the Tower without giving anything a second glance. He almost makes it to the back of the park without pause, except for the fact that he runs straight into the line for one of Steve’s impromptu autograph and photo sessions.

Clint pauses for a moment, watching as Steve trades shields with a wide-eyed little boy, taking his comically small plastic one and holding it in a perfectly earnest fighting stance. The boy is barely tall enough to see over the top of Steve’s shield as he holds it up, grinning for a picture to capture the moment Clint is sure he won’t ever forget. For a moment he allows himself to remember coveting the Captain America posters and shirts that hung in store windows when he was a kid. He still has a job to do here, though, so he forces himself to get back on track, heading for the edge of the park where the Academy ride sits. 

The line for it is short again when Clint gets there, shorter than he would expect on the basis of the concept. Then again, maybe the kids-only policy is a deterrent, or maybe people come here to see their heroes, not find heroes in themselves. Which would be sad, really, but probably unsurprising. 

He takes a moment to survey the scene, finds nothing immediately out of place or untoward. Just the line of kids going in on one side, and parents waiting to receive them at the ride’s exit. Clint decides he needs to get some more accounts of the thing, talk to some of the kids and see if any of them can remember their experiences, if any more of them seem disturbed by the ride. 

Only that’s easier said than done, he realizes. It would be perfectly simple if only he were Steve, instantly recognizable in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans, seeming to invite the adoration of everyone in the crowd by simply showing up and being alive. Clint swallows down another wave of frustration, of jealousy over how well this place seems to be serving his teammates. Today isn’t supposed to be about him, and he isn’t going to change that. Trying to relax his shoulders, Clint falls into an easy walk over to the parents’ waiting area, leans against a railing like he belongs. One of the moms gives him a sideways glance, but he just shrugs and pulls out his phone, keeping an eye on things reflected in the screen while pretending to be disinterested in his environment.

When the next wave of kids emerges, Clint makes eye contact with a girl who looks like she’s around ten years old and smiles, taking a step toward her when she doesn’t seem bothered by the gesture.

“This ride looks cool,” he tells her. “But they won’t let me go on it, because I’m too big to fit.”

The girl laughs and nods, dark curls bouncing. “You don’t get to go on it because you’re too old to become a superhero.”

“True,” says Clint, fighting the urge to argue. He ought to use this to his advantage, Natasha’s voice says in the back of his mind. “Could you tell me what it’s about, though?”

She shrugs. “The Avengers are in outer space visiting Thor’s friends. But Count Dracula and his vampire army start attacking people on Earth, so we all had to become superheroes and defeat them! My power was blowing bubbles that _explode_!”

“Awesome!” says Clint, and his enthusiasm is genuine, fueled by relief at getting such a benign, straightforward answer.

He gets similar stories from a handful of other kids, who have apparently received powers ranging from invisibility to lethal farts (which he’s sure the parents will greatly appreciate). He’s starting to get some odd looks, though, must be becoming the weird guy lurking outside a ride to interrogate children. He’s almost satisfied that there’s no danger here when his attention is caught by the worried edge of a mother’s voice.

“What took you so long?” the woman is asking her daughter, a tall, gangly girl on the edge of puberty.

The girl just shrugs in response, looking at her mother with the same glazed eyes Clint remembers from the last time he was here.

“Everyone else came out and you didn’t!” the girl’s mother continues, concern turning into anger now that she has her daughter back in her sights. “I’ve told you this little rebellion of yours isn’t funny, we were really worried!”

When the girl still doesn’t say anything to that, fails to even apologize, the mother grabs her by the wrist and begins dragging her toward the walkway. “We’re going home now. You’re done here if you can’t listen to me.”

This girl isn’t stumbling, is able to walk and follow her mother, appears to be in perfectly good control of her body. There’s still something off, though, Clint decides, something in the slight shuffle of her gait, in that unmistakable blank-eyed expression. 

He turns and marches straight up to the guard at the ride’s entrance. “I need to go inside.”

The guard is the same as the day before, and he holds up the same unyielding hand. “I can’t allow you to do that, sir. This ride is for children only.”

“I’m concerned about the safety of this attraction,” Clint insists, taking another step forward defiantly. That puts his face just a few inches away from the hand blocking his way, which probably wasn’t the smartest tactical move on his part, since he’s now all but guaranteed himself a direct hit from the guard should things come to blows.

“This is an amusement park attraction with artificial special effects,” says the guard, almost as if he’s reading from a disclaimer page. “There are no risks to guests if they follow the safety rules, securing loose items and keeping all limbs inside of the car at all times.”

“You see that girl over there?” asks Clint, dismayed when he turns to see that the child and her mother have disappeared into the crowd. “Okay, well did you see her when she was there? She was right there. She came out of this ride unresponsive. There was another kid, a boy, who was exactly the same a few days ago.”

Something shifts in the guard’s demeanor then, a subtle awakening that lets Clint know he’s prepared for a fight if one is coming. “Sir, you need to leave now. I can’t let you on this ride, and loitering is strictly prohibited here.”

“Okay,” says Clint, finally pulling his wallet from his pocket and taking out the Avengers ID card Tony’s had made for all of them. He hasn’t wanted to do this, hasn’t wanted to do anything that might be noticed by guests and reported to the media, but he doesn’t see how he has a choice at this point. “You see this? You see who I am? I need you to let me in there now, so I can check it out for safety.”

The guard just shakes his head again. “I don’t care who you are, Mr. Barton, this ride is for children only and the backstage area is restricted to attraction-specific personnel.”

“We _own_ this place!” Clint says exasperatedly. “I’m an Avenger, and you have your job right now because of me!”

“Stark Industries owns the park,” the guard says indifferently. “And if you don’t stop causing a scene, I will have you removed from the premises.”

Clint takes a small step back, then, suddenly notices the crowd of onlookers this confrontation has drawn, the number of kids who are looking anxiously at the ride’s entrance as they wait to get on. He needs a better strategy, he realizes, needs to regroup. He turns and walks away in silence, promising himself that he’ll be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback earns my eternal love. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

“First order of business,” says Bruce, once they’re all sitting in the briefing room the next morning. 

Clint looks up from swirling his rapidly-cooling coffee around in his mug. He’s only half here mentally, is still distracted by the previous day’s confrontation, by the niggling sense that something is wrong, that he needs to be investigating further. 

Bruce pulls up the holographic briefing display, showing a news article dated for the current day. _Suspicious Fire Engulfs House, Parents Blame Youngest Child_ reads the headline, and underneath is what must be a photograph of the family. Clint leans forward in his chair a little, trying to make out the part of the article that’s cut off by the bottom of the display. He wishes he had the ability to scroll from his seat, could control this thing himself.

“So a kid set a fire,” says Tony, shrugging and taking a long swallow of his latte. Apparently he and Bruce haven’t discussed this ahead of time, aren’t on their own personal wavelength like they often are during these meetings. “So what?”

“So what,” says Bruce, finally scrolling down, then zooming in on a portion of the article that he’s highlighted. “So what is that his parents claim he started the fire _with his eyes_.”

Natasha frowns, crossing her arms as she leans back in her chair. “What’s the evidence that their claim is true?”

Bruce shrugs. “None that I can see from this article. But--Doesn’t it seem like something we ought to look into?”

Natasha sighs. “Probably a couple of crackpots looking to make sense of a tragedy. Or really, really looking for attention.”

“Since when do official news outlets report stories like this without any basis?” asks Steve.

“Since an alien invasion became official news,” Natasha insists. “It’s getting harder and harder to tell what belongs in the news and what belongs in the tabloids, especially without S.H.I.E.L.D. around to play gatekeeper anymore. A few months ago, they would have been on this before it had a chance to get to the press.”

“Then shouldn’t we do the same now?” asks Bruce, cocking his head toward the article again. “Look, I’ll do it myself. I just don’t think we should chance leaving someone with newly developing abilities out there unsupervised.”

Clint looks at the pictures again, that odd sense of unease tugging more insistently at the pit of his stomach, though he still can’t actually say why. Shaking his head, he drains the rest of his coffee and decides that this will have to be a case he leaves to his teammates. He has other plans today.

* * *

“Good morning, JARVIS!” Clint calls out as he slips into one of the darkened labs on the Research level. 

This isn’t one of Tony’s preferred work spaces, is supposed to be a communal facility so that anyone on the team can have a place to experiment with new tech. Clint doesn’t have the best track record here, though--Well, really the first fire wasn’t his fault, and neither was the time everything ended up coated in oil slick. But he still feels a certain amount of apprehension as he walks in, wondering whether Tony might have instructed the Tower’s system to deny him access, or set some sort of booby trap. 

“Good morning, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS responds, and that seems like a decent start, at least.

“Agent,” says Clint, because that other greeting makes him feel like an old man.

“May I remind you that in the absence of S.H.I.E.L.D., you are no longer an agent,” the cool voice responds.

Clint sighs. “Fine. Just Clint, then. What’s Tony’s current location?”

“Fitness level,” says JARVIS. “Would you like me to summon him for you?”

“No!” Clint answers, perhaps a little too sharply. “No, that’s fine. I don’t need him here. Actually I need him specifically not here. I could use your help, though.”

“What do you require, Mr. Clint?” asks JARVIS.

“Okay, now you’re just being difficult.” Clint scowls up at the speaker he knows is embedded in the ceiling. “I need you to help me with the 3D printer.”

“And what will you be printing this morning?”

Clint holds up the Starkpad he’s brought with him, which displays a picture of an Adventureland actor in a Captain America costume, one of the stand-ins who holds photo sessions when Steve himself isn’t available. “This.”

“Mr. Stark’s technology is quite advanced, but it is not yet capable of producing a person.”

“Oh, come on!” Clint rolls his eyes. “The uniform, not the person! And the shield would be good, too.”

“And for what purpose will you be using this uniform?” asks JARVIS, and Clint could swear he detects suspicion in the tone.

“That’s need-to-know information,” says Clint.

“In that case,” says JARVIS, “I must inform you that I need to know. It’s necessary to determine where and by whom the product will be worn so I can select the appropriate dimensions and materials.”

Clint balks for a moment longer, but he can’t deny the logic of that argument, and he definitely isn’t going to chance trying to figure out the printer on his own. With his luck, he’ll get banned from the lab indefinitely, and then he’ll be out of luck for his mission today. “Fine. It’s me. I’m wearing it. But you can’t tell Tony, okay? He can’t know.”

“Mr. Stark is the owner of this facility and therefore should be notified of its usage,” JARVIS answers predictably. Tony probably custom-programmed that response himself, Clint thinks. 

“JARVIS,” Clint says warningly. “You can’t tell him. Important Avengers business.”

“My protocols must insist,” says JARVIS.

“Bullshit.” Clint crosses his arms. “We both know you don’t always follow your protocols. And that they are designed to be overridden when an Avenger needs them to be.”

JARVIS doesn’t respond immediately to that, and Clint can practically sense the reluctance over betraying Tony in the computer’s silence, can feel the expectation that he’ll bargain for this.

“Fine!” he relents, after nearly a full minute. “Fine, I’ll play chess with you when I get home if you keep Tony in the dark about this.”

“Three games minimum,” JARVIS answers eagerly.

Clint sighs. “Deal. Now can we get started?”

“Very well,” says JARVIS. “Please stand with your arms held away from your body so that I can scan your proportions.”

* * *

In retrospect, walking in through the front gate might not have been his smartest move, Clint realizes. If the idea is to be posing as a costumed park employee, he probably ought to have been using a backstage staff entrance. He has no idea where those are, though, or how to sneak into them, so he decides to bank on the fact that security at the back of the park near the ride probably won’t be able to see him come in.

For a moment he thinks that being dressed as Captain America means he might be stopped for photos or autographs, but nobody in the crowd seems to give him a second glance as he makes his way toward the Academy ride. He isn’t sure how to feel about that--On the one hand, the attention would have felt nice, but on the other, he really isn’t here to play dress-up for the kids.

When he arrives at the ride’s entrance, it’s the same damn guard for the third time in a row. Clint bites back some profanity--all the kids around, after all, and takes a moment to square his shoulders, hold the shield up in what he’s fairly certain is a decent approximation of Steve’s posture. 

This time he doesn’t even try for the guest entry to the ride, instead heads straight for the side door marked “Restricted”. For a moment he almost thinks he might make it undeterred, if he just keeps his movements slow and confident enough. 

The sound of a shoe coming down on the shell of a crisp autumn leaf is the only warning that Clint gets. The next thing he knows, he’s caught in a headlock, spun around so that his shoulder blades hit the door he was about to open.

“Whoa!” Clint gasps, as he comes face to face with another man in a security uniform, one he doesn’t recognize. His breath is coming in rough gasps, more from the adrenaline, the surprise of being caught unaware, than from any actual pain or injury.

The guard lets go, then, though he doesn’t relax his posture, makes it perfectly obvious that he’s willing to strike again without so much as a second thought if Clint makes it necessary. “This door is restricted. Attraction personnel only.”

“Okay,” says Clint, holding up a hand in an attempt to defuse the situation. He’s painfully aware of all the kids and parents staring at him now, and not at all in the way he’d hoped for earlier. He can’t force his way in now, risks injuring or upsetting all of the bystanders. He can’t cause a headline over this, either. “Sorry, sorry. Just a mix-up. This not where I’m supposed to be?”

The guard eyes him for a long moment, clearly not believing the ploy. He seems to come to the same conclusion as Clint, though, that it isn’t worth the risk of an all-out fight right here in public. “Map’s over there,” he sneers, pointing before shoving Clint toward it.

Clint nods dutifully and sets off toward the same map board he’d searched a few days earlier, still ready to react in an instant to any sort of attack from behind. He pauses to stare at the map, trying to regroup. He can’t stay here too long, he knows, or there will probably be more security arriving to have him escorted out of the park, or worse yet carted off to a backstage area where he really will be expected to know how to behave like a real park employee. 

He’s about to move along when a tug on his sleeve makes him spin, sets all his defenses on edge. It’s just one of the kids, though, a little boy wearing a shirt with a stylized drawing of Steve’s face, helmet and all. The boy motions for Clint to lean down, come closer, which he does, expecting some sort of secret, perhaps more evidence of whatever’s going on behind the closed doors of the Academy ride.

“What is it?” Clint stage-whispers to the kid. “Got some bad guys you need defeated?”

The boy just shakes his head. “You’re not a very good Captain America,” he says, his voice colored by the sort of disappointed betrayal only a child can manage. “You’re way too short.”

Clint sighs, throwing up his hands in defeat. “You know what? Take this.” He hands his prop shield to the kid, who’s still staring after him in confusion as Clint walks away.

* * *

If Clint were sensible, he might have remembered to change out of his homemade costume before going to see Tony. As it is, he marches straight onto the lift and rides it down to the lab, where Tony can almost always be found if they’re not all out in the field together. He doesn’t bother to call ahead, though he’s fairly certain JARVIS is aware of his movement, will give Tony warning enough before he arrives.

When he opens the door—which thankfully isn’t locked—Tony is standing in front of the holo-computer display, rearranging what look like metallic plates so quickly that Clint starts feeling dizzy after a few moments of trying to keep track.

“New suit?” asks Clint, partly because he wants to make sure Tony knows he’s there. He’s learned the hard way that coming into the lab unannounced and unnoticed is a bad idea. He even had a set of chemical burns to remember that particular lesson by. 

Tony shakes his head without turning around. “New ride prototype.”

“Right,” says Clint. “About that—We’ve got a problem at Adventureland.”

“Pause,” Tony says to the display, then turns to face Clint. He opens his mouth—probably to say something smooth and witty—then closes it, looking dumbfounded for a moment. “What the hell are you wearing?”

It’s then that Clint remembers the costume, looks down at the star and stripes on his chest as his cheeks burn, conjuring an unexpected memory of the year his mother had attempted this suit with markers and a secondhand t-shirt for Halloween.

“It’s called being undercover,” says Clint, crossing his arms. “Some of us choose to do that instead of wearing a tin can.”

“Right,” Tony says skeptically. He runs a hand through his hair. “This about you wanting a ride again?”

“No,” Clint says firmly. “Something is wrong. _Bad_ wrong. That Academy ride—What does it do?”

“It’s a 3D simulator,” says Tony, turning back to the display to pull up a schematic. “Kid stuff, nothing too intense. Basically they sit in a car and wear a headset which scans their features while simultaneously feeding back images. Each kid gets to see themselves as a superhero with a backstory and set of abilities randomly generated from a database of over fifty thousand possible combinations. That way it’s highly unlikely that any two kids would get the same story and powers and be able to discuss it with one another.”

“Why is it so secret, then?” asks Clint. “Why no adults allowed?”

Tony shrugs, gives him a smug little smile. “Secrecy adds to the magic, right? That’s been a part of the hero narrative for decades. Besides, letting kids ride alone gives them a sense of empowerment without any significant risk.”

“Okay,” says Clint, with the grudging thought that this concept sounds like something he would have enjoyed as a kid. “But something’s wrong with it. Some of the kids coming off of it look—I don’t know, not right. Out of it. Like—“ He pauses, swallows, can’t quite bring himself to use the word _brainwashed_. There’s a part of him that’s still too ashamed, too worried about being branded a paranoid lunatic. Too afraid that he really is seeing things that aren’t real again.

Tony sighs and shakes his head, everything about his expression telegraphing _I’m humoring you_. “So, some kids get scared on rides. Some kids get motion sick. Those things happen every day at every amusement park in the world. Doesn’t mean I should shut it down.”

“I’m not asking you to shut it down,” Clint says quickly. “I’m just—concerned. Security wouldn’t let me check it out, either.”

Tony actually smirks at that, which makes Clint want to wipe that self-congratulatory smile off his face. “Good, then they’re doing their jobs. I’m telling you, there’s nothing to worry about at the park. It’s all perfectly safe. I even put Happy in charge of security.”

“Great,” Clint mutters, “that makes me feel much better.”

* * *

Natasha is in the training gym on her personal level of the Tower, JARVIS tells him, but it isn’t exactly like Clint couldn’t have figured that out on his own. He’s known all of her codes for months, has his own access to the biometric locks here, the same as she has on his floor. 

Today she’s fighting a small holographic army of what appear to be daggers with wings, sending one slamming into the wall with a powerful roundhouse as Clint slips in the door.

“I need your help,” he tells Natasha, without pretense. At least he doesn’t have to worry about hiding things from her, knows she’ll see straight through him no matter what he does.

“Pause,” she tells the simulation, and the holograms freeze in midair. She turns to face Clint, not even breathing hard. “With what?”

“The park,” says Clint, taking a few steps closer and ducking under one of the knife-things. “Something’s going on with the Academy ride. You know it?”

She nods, brushing a stray hair out of her face. “Go on.”

Clint sighs, wishing for what feels like the hundredth time for any sort of tangible evidence. “I don’t know, exactly. But—Two of the kids coming off seemed—not right. They couldn’t remember what happened on the ride. Couldn’t tell their parents. And they both had the same look on their face, just—blank. They looked like—“

“Me,” Natasha finishes, meeting his gaze. “Right?”

“Like someone who’d been brainwashed,” Clint hedges, reluctant to say that he’s seen more of himself in those kids than his memories of her. “And security is way too enthusiastic there. I even pulled the Avenger card, and they still practically took me out. In front of everyone. You ever find Stark security to be that aggressive?”

“Yes,” says Natasha. “Occasionally.” It’s clear she isn’t finished with the conversation yet, though, isn’t about to dismiss him like the others.

“Then why haven’t you gone back to your workout yet?” asks Clint.

“Because you’re standing in the middle of it,” she teases, but then turns serious again. “Come with me.”

Clint follows her wordlessly out the door of the gym, into the room she uses as a private office. She has pictures taped to the wall, he sees immediately, though the only thing they seem to have in common is that all of the subjects are probably less than eight years old. 

“What are these?” he asks, though a chill shoots through him at the thought that he already knows.

“Banner’s kid from the news,” says Natasha, pointing to the first of the pictures. “I did some digging. Turns out his family visited Adventureland last week. Which could be nothing more than a coincidence, right? But I did a search, looking for stories about children in freak accidents.” She points to a stack of print-outs on the desk. “Then I cross-matched the IDs with the Park’s guest records. More than three-quarters turned up a match.”

Clint nods slowly, a little afraid to go through that stack of stories, find out how many casualties might have already occurred. “You run anything on the staff?”

“All clean, of course,” says Natasha. 

Clint sighs again, shakes his head grimly. “Want to go break into a kids’ ride with me?”

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone please go tell [blizzardphoenix](http://blizzardphoenix.tumblr.com/) how COMPLETELY PHENOMENAL her art is!

  


 

Natasha, it turns out, does not mess around when it comes to infiltrating potentially-deadly amusement park rides. Which probably shouldn’t come as a surprise, really, seeing as how the only things she _does_ mess with lately are the environmental preferences on Tony’s floor of the Tower. That Clint knows about, anyway.

It takes less than an hour for her to outfit them both in Adventureland security uniforms, right down to badges that look completely authentic. Once they’re in disguise, she leads Clint through the park with the same silent confidence he’s come to expect from her on any field mission, veering off the main pathway to take a winding route through the food service area, pausing just inside the doorway of a gift shop Clint hasn’t bothered to explore before.

“What are we doing?” he asks, as she pulls an item off the shelf, feigning interest. It’s a coloring book, Clint realizes, which seems to contain only pictures of Tony, saving the day in a variety of victorious, heroic poses.

“Look up,” says Natasha, cocking her head as she flips a page.

Clint does as he’s told, realizing suddenly where they are, that Natasha’s found a vantage point which gives them a clear view of the back staff entrance to the Academy ride. It would be hard—impossible—to find this spot on the schematics from Tony’s computer. There’s only one viable explanation he can think of.

“Natasha,” he hisses, keeping his gaze on the back of the attraction as he speaks. “How much time have you spent here?”

She shrugs, putting the coloring book down and grabbing another one, which has pages full of Steve and his S.H.I.E.L.D.. “Enough.”

“Natasha,” he repeats, and this time she half-turns her head, meeting his gaze for a second over her shoulder.

“A week,” she admits, then sighs. “I don’t like anything with our name painted all over it to be a black box.”

Clint grins. “I knew it. I knew this place would get to you too.” Suddenly he misses S.H.I.E.L.D., misses it being just the two of them against the world.

“Focus,” says Natasha, pressing a finger to his lips. “Going in the back is our best bet. Ordinarily I’d say stun arrows for the guards, but the publicity is a complication. Bring your bow in here and someone’s bound to see—and that’s the end of our cover. So we’ll have to go in at close range.”

Clint shakes his head and grins at her again, reaching into his pocket to pull out the newest piece of tech Tony’s designed for him, concealed as an innocuous-looking ballpoint pen. “Maybe not that close.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “What are you going to do, throw it at them?”

“Nope,” says Clint, pulling off the cap to show her the inside. “Dart gun, with nanotech for added accuracy and distance. Sometimes I love Stark Tech.”

She looks suitably impressed by that. “Not bad. What’s the range?”

“Ten meters.” He pauses, doing the calculations in his head. The gift shop serving as their current cover isn’t close enough by a long shot, but they should be able to get within range without leaving the throng of guests milling around the food stands.

“Okay,” says Natasha, apparently having reached the same conclusion. “You ready?”

Clint nods, and she links her arm through his as they start to walk, moving seamlessly together through the crowd, and he thinks that this is something he won’t ever forget how to do. Natasha stops in front of a bench that gives him a good sight line, a clear shot. She turns to face him, already wearing her best doe-eyed face of innocent adoration, every bit the helplessly smitten girl as she touches his cheek like she’s trying to get his attention, trying to earn a kiss.

Clint pretends to grimace at her, and takes aim at the first guard over her shoulder. The shot catches the guy in the side of the neck, and he goes down hard a moment later, out for a nap courtesy of Stark Industries. The second guard looks alarmed, bends down to check on his partner, and Clint hits him in the shoulder.

“Good,” says Natasha, her smile turning deadly. “Let’s go.”

There will be more guards eventually—probably sooner rather than later—Clint knows, but right now they have a clear pathway in the door, and that’s all he really cares about. The guests don’t seem to have noticed anything amiss yet, and he keeps his pace steady but confident as he follows Natasha through the park’s fence and up to the Academy’s staff entrance. She steps over the first guard effortlessly, stoops down over the second, palming his badge as she pretends to check his pulse. She swipes it over the sensor, and then the door is open, the last barrier finally gone.

It’s dark inside the back hallway of the attraction, chilled by the over-enthusiastic air conditioning, and loud to boot. The sound effects from the ride on the other side of the thin wall separating the backstage area are practically overwhelming for a moment, but it’s far from the most difficult environment they’ve ever had to work in. Natasha’s still in front of him, keeping her shoulder to the wall as she starts to move forward, the hallway winding around the turns of the ride. Clint holds his breath, expecting an attack at any moment, but nothing happens until they reach the next barrier, the door to the ride’s main control room.

The door is locked, of course, and there’s no sign of a sensor to swipe the badge like they did outside. This room has more sophisticated security, then, which figures. Clint holds his breath as he watches Natasha, who seems perfectly calm as she searches the wall next to the door. It takes her a few moments—which feel an eternity long—to find a hidden switch which reveals a tiny keypad and screen demanding a password.

“Can you get through it?” he asks softly, concern tugging at his stomach though he’s never had any reason to doubt Natasha’s skills.

She nods, already typing, already making code fly across the little screen. “It’s a Stark system. Of course I can.”

The door clicks open a moment later, and then all hell breaks loose.

The first welcome they get is a gunshot aimed at Natasha’s head. She ducks and rolls instinctively, inside the room almost before Clint’s had a chance to react. He finds himself reaching for his bow reflexively, cursing himself for listening to her when she’d insisted it was too big a risk to attempt bringing it through the front gate. It isn’t like this is his first time in the field without his weapon of choice, but it is a new experience without S.H.I.E.L.D. on the comms, without a full team to back him. He clutches the dart gun, which is the closest thing he has to a real weapon at the moment, and searches for any sort of cover.

He surveys his surroundings in stolen glances, most of his attention fixed on the shooter he’s identified at the far end of the room. It’s a bigger space than it’s appeared from outside of the attraction, the room mostly empty for all of its size. The walls are covered in display screens and computer terminals, which must be the controls for the ride.

Gunfire explodes again, and Clint dives for the floor, underneath a table, which is the best defense he can find at the moment. That move puts him in range of the shooter, though it’s not a great vantage point unless he stands up, making himself utterly vulnerable. Instead Clint takes aim from where he is, targeting the ankle and saying a silent prayer that the dart’s little needle will be enough to pierce through the fabric of the man’s pants and deliver the dose of tranquilizer. He doesn’t exhale until the shooter falls with the sickening thud of head hitting the tile floor.

To his left, Natasha’s fighting two other men, but Clint figures she’s got that more than handled on her own. So instead of getting in her way, he spares a moment to duck out from under the table and grab the gun his mark’s been firing. There can’t be too many bullets left in the clip, and he can’t find any more ammo on the man’s body, but even a limited weapon is better than none at all.

The door at the other end of the room flies open with a crash as it rebounds off the wall, another man and two women in security garb entering the room. Clint takes one down with a bullet to each ankle, which seems to make the woman abandon any hopes of continuing this fight. He dives under the table again as the remaining woman takes a shot at him. He doesn’t get a chance to do anything else before Natasha’s on the woman’s back, delivering an impossibly bright blue bolt of electricity with the gauntlet hidden beneath the long sleeve of her shirt. The woman goes down with a strangled scream, curls into a convulsing ball on the floor.

That display brings the lone man close enough for Clint to put a bullet into each of his knees, followed quickly by another stun dart. At least he won’t be feeling any pain, Clint thinks grimly. Really he’s done the guy a favor.

The room goes deceptively still and quiet, then, save for the sound of alarms going off at a distance, someone speaking over an intercom, instructing guests to calmly exit the attraction.

They won’t be alone for long, he knows, there will be more fighting to come, so he takes the opportunity to look around in more detail.

It’s only then that he realizes the table he’s been hiding under is actually a morgue-style metal gurney, and that it’s already occupied. A girl who looks no older than five is stretched out on the top, her arms and legs bound so firmly to the table that her fingers have gone visibly bloodless. She’s hooked up to an IV, Clint realizes, and there are bags hung at the head of the bed, dripping down into her bloodstream. Next to the bed is a tray of surgical instruments, and he decides not to think too hard about how they might’ve been used. Behind him, he hears Natasha suck in a sharp breath, evidently coming to the same realization.

Clint watches breathlessly as the girl raises her head, as if in a trance. He has one horrifying moment of thought in which he wonders if she’s already dead, if this might be yet another misguided experiment in reanimating corpses. But that isn’t it, can’t be it, because then she opens her eyes and Clint recognizes that empty look, knows that she is alive, and that her mind belongs to someone else.

“Don’t,” says Natasha, as he takes a step toward the table, intending to release the girl, to at least try and get through to her somehow.

“Natasha,” he says quietly, because he can’t _not_ help this girl, can’t stand there and do nothing.

“Get down!” Natasha insists, and then she’s on top of him, throwing him to the floor as the girl on the table opens her mouth and begins to scream.

Then it’s all he can do to stay conscious as the screens on the walls explode into flame, one after the other like an impossible chain of dominoes. Overhead, the fire sprinklers kick on, and a torrent of water rains down from above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated! :)


	5. Chapter 5

It ends, like all jobs do lately, back in the Tower’s briefing room. Another Monday, another meeting, only this one is anything but routine. Clint stares into the milky skin that’s rapidly forming on top of the coffee in his mug and tries not to make eye contact with Steve or Tony, who seem to be avoiding looking at one another, too. Bruce is scrolling through something on the screen of his tablet, and Thor is tracking the movements of a pigeon perched on the outside window sill. 

“Report,” says Steve, as soon as Natasha walks into the room, looking perfectly composed, though Clint knows she’s spent the night interrogating the two former Academy ride employees who made it out alive. 

“Our subjects claim allegiance to AIM,” she answers, ignoring Tony’s full-body flinch as she comes to sit at the table, folding her hands neatly on the surface as if she’s simply notifying her team of the day’s weather and traffic predictions.

“AIM,” Tony echoes, running a hand across his eyes. “Thought I got rid of those guys.”

“Some,” says Natasha. “Apparently not all of them.”

“So AIM was experimenting on kids,” says Steve, looking utterly disgusted. “Why?”

“Apparently they’re fans,” Natasha answers darkly. “Liked the concept of the park. Especially the Academy ride. So much, in fact, that they decided to take the concept literally.”

“So they were trying to give these kids powers?” Bruce looks as though he might be sick.

“Apparently not just trying,” Clint says, pointedly. “And the park made a clever alibi, right? Kids start telling stories about being given special abilities, you’ve got a built in explanation. Any parents get angry and talkative, the liability’s pointed straight back to us.”

“Right.” Natasha leans back a little, searching the faces of her teammates. “They were using a derivative of the Extremis tech and serum. You boys will have to do the full analysis, but on the basis of our previous intel, I’d think a full reversal of the effects would be unlikely.”

“We’ll get right on it,” says Bruce, because Tony still looks like he’s trying very hard to resist the urge to tear all of his hair out.

“We’ll have to find them all,” says Natasha. “I’ve already started a search algorithm.”

“And what do we do when we find them?” asks Steve, looking only slightly more composed than Tony does. “Try more experiments on them to see if we can fix the damage done during their visit to our park?”

“Actually,” says Clint, “I think I have a better idea.”

Suddenly all eyes in the room are on him, all the attention he’s wanted in the past few weeks coming all at once, with the expectation that he’ll come through for everyone now.

“Go on,” says Tony, leaning forward to brace his arms on the conference table.

“Well,” he says slowly, “the ride concept was a good one, you know? What kid doesn’t want to be a hero? So now we’ve got a group of them who have abilities, and no idea what to do with that. But—But if anyone in the world was going to teach them, that would be us, right? So what if we make the Academy more than a ride? What if we make it a real place?”

Tony’s eyes light up at that, his mind apparently having moved past the problem and onto finding a solution. “That’s a terrible idea. I love it.”

“It would be a good step toward making things right,” Steve agrees. 

Bruce just nods, still looking a little apprehensive.

“It would be an honor,” says Thor.

“And you?” asks Clint, turning to Natasha finally. 

She meets his gaze carefully, nods once, and gives him a little smile. “You know I’ll always back your bad decisions.”

“Okay,” says Clint, blowing out a breath and turning back to Tony, a tiny thread of hope starting to unfurl itself in his chest. “I think I need to talk to your CEO.”

* * *

When the real Academy opens two months later, there isn’t a parade. There aren’t any fireworks, or cheering crowds of fans. The construction has happened quickly, partly out of necessity and partly because Tony’s decided to repurpose the grounds of his ill-fated Expo. 

By the time Clint arrives, the registration and orientation sessions are over. He’s learned well enough to leave the administrative duties to Pepper and Maria, knows that his place is in the gym, specifically the one set up as an archery range, this time with real bows and arrows. No annoying computerized voices, he thinks with satisfaction as he makes his way up the walk to the main pavilion. The only tricks here will be from his arrowheads, and he’s fully in control of those.

The first thing Clint notices as he walks into the main building is the lack of Tony’s typical bravado in decorating sense. No sign of a gift shop or other merchandizing here, no gaudy sign or tacky statues. In fact, the only thing branding this space as theirs is the floor-to-ceiling silver A that’s painted on the wall, greeting anyone who enters. Clint stops to admire it for a moment, feeling a flush of pride at his part in all of this.

He’s a little surprised to see how many people are here, as he makes his way down the hall, passing other training studios preparing for the beginning of class. In the end, the consensus was to open the Academy to anyone interested in enrollment, not just the children subjected to AIM’s experimentation at the park. Because, as Steve had put it, the world could always use more people open to learning about true heroism, putting in the time and dedication it requires. Natasha has a handful of students learning a basic fighting stance, he notices, and Steve is leading a dozen kids through a trust exercise. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t get to see what Tony and Bruce are doing before he reaches his own studio, he decides, though he’s sure that Pepper and Maria must be supervising. 

Clint stops short of actually entering his studio, though, having been too distracted by the other classes to notice the girl who’s standing outside his doorway. She looks older than the other students he’s seen here, and for a moment Clint wonders whether this might be an angry family member, or some concerned citizen here to remind him of all the reasons he probably ought not to be anyone’s role model. There’s something familiar about her, like a figure from a half-remembered dream.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks, aiming his tone toward helpful and hoping she doesn’t catch the apprehension he’s currently feeling, the way this place suddenly feels a bit too reminiscent of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s academy. 

The girl takes two steps closer, the edges of her lips tugging upward in an odd little smile. “You’re Clint Barton, right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, taken aback, but then the pieces fall into place. She looks familiar, he realizes, because he’s seen this girl before. “You were at the park. Playing my game. Which is _rigged_ , for the record, and it was not my idea.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not rigged, you just have to learn its patterns. Spend enough time to factor in all the variables. Isn’t that part of shooting for real?”

Clint blinks, surprised by that response. “It is.” He pauses as another thought occurs to him. “I’m pretty sure you’re too old to have gotten onto the Academy ride. Did something happen to you elsewhere in the park?”

The girl shakes her head and laughs. “No. No weird powers here. Except I’ve been told I’m a pretty good shot. Think I could be in your class?”

Clint nods, smiling suddenly as the reality of it all sinks home--that this place is really open, that he’s responsible for a class of recruits, that this girl wants to be trained by _him_. “And you are?”

“Kate,” she tells him, offering a hand.

“Clint,” says Clint, though he supposes that’s a bit redundant at this point. He shakes her hand firmly, then motions toward the studio. 

Inside, two rows of students are already seated on the mats, patiently waiting for the lesson to begin. Clint takes a moment to survey them--a wide array of ages, sizes, colors--and feels that odd swell of pride again, a particular sort of purpose he has to admit he’s been missing since S.H.I.E.L.D. fell apart.

“First lesson,” he tells the group, watching as the kids sit up straighter. “You miss every shot you don’t take. So if it matters, if you can make a difference, you always take the shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who came on this ride with me!


End file.
